Page 117 of Soul of a Witch

She stopped. Stared at me. I’d promised myself words like that would never escape me again, and yet they had.

I didn’t regret it either. Not even slightly. If anything, as I lay there drunk on magic and floating on pleasure, I wished I’d said it sooner.

But I would make up for that. Eternity was ahead, and I would spend all of it repeating those words in any way I knew how.

Her face was still so close to mine, and she whispered, “Say it again.”

Smearing my hand through my own blood, I lifted my arm and traced my fingers across her chest, spelling out the words.

“I love you,” I said. “I love you more than life itself, more than my own freedom. For you and you alone, I’ve stayed alive, Everly. For you, I would face everything I ever feared. I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes and I swear I’ve loved you in every one of them.”

Her eyes welled up as she looked at me. I wasn’t sure why those words had slipped out now, of all times. But when I saw her drenched in blood, silhouetted with moonlight, I fell in love all over again and couldn’t stay silent.

“You mean that?” she said, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking. She was trying so hard to retain her composure. Words like that were terrifying and I knew it all too well, but I’d told her the truth: for her, I would face everything I feared.

Even this.

“I swear it,” I said, cupping her face. She leaned into my hand.

“Oh, Callum,” she gasped, catching her breath. “I love you so much.”

From the dark depths of the forest, a drum beat. As the beating continued, vague shapes flitted through the fog around us. Whispers filled the air and soft laughter, accompanied by a sound that could only be described as the ringing of distant bells.

Slowly, Everly rose to her feet, staring into the mist. Her bloody hands hung slack at her sides, the knife still clutched in her fingers. Getting to my feet, I stood close behind her. Watching, waiting.

A figure slowly materialized from the mist.

He was tall and thin, with limbs as long and lanky as tree branches. His clothing might have been made of leather, but it was nearly impossible to tell with the amount of moss and lichens covering it. The skull of a horse shrouded his face, covered with an intricate design of bright silver paint. He carried a gnarled walking stick, and his white beard was so long he had to throw it over his shoulder to avoid it trailing on the ground.

The Old Man. The Fairy King.

Flowers grew around his bare feet as he walked. When he at last stood still and pushed back the mask, I had the urge to avert my eyes.

The fae controlled magic neither witches nor demons could touch. The air around the Old Man vibrated with unknowable energy, the scent sharp and earthy, like freshly-crushed pepper. The length and pale color of his beard made him appear old, but when looking at his face, it was truly impossible to guess his age.

Doubtlessly, he was even older than I was.

“Long have the Laverne witches existed peacefully within my forest,” he said, his voice rumbling the ground. “Generations of your family have come and gone beneath these trees. But it has been a very long time since one of you called to me. What is it you seek?”

“A blessing,” Everly said, daring to take a step forward. She held out the blade, and the Old Man regarded it with narrowed white eyes. “If you would be so generous to grant it.”

The Old Man took the knife and examined it, weighing it in his hand. “The blood of the resentful dead, and the blood of your beloved.” He sniffed, his nostrils flaring. “The blood of a demon. A most unusual aroma you’ve presented to me, Laverne witch.”

Trudging over to the bottle of mead, he picked it up and took a long swig, draining the bottle. fae creatures rarely showed themselves; Darragh being the rare exception. I’d seen them only a handful of times in my life, and never had I encountered fairy royalty such as this.

“I will honor your request,” he finally said. “For the same reason that I honored Sybil’s when she came to me. It is not because you’ve flattered me with offerings or tempted me with your revelry. It is because I know the purpose of it. I know your intent.” He turned to us, nodding his head. “You mean to kill the Deep One. The poisonous hellkite who sleeps in the mine, who has sought to destroy my power for decades. I’ve held it back, but the trees…” He laid his hand against the trunk of a gnarled oak, his expression suddenly sad. “They are tired. As am I. As the Deep One’s power grows, it becomes ever more difficult to hold It back.” He looked at Everly again, his gaze sharp. “It means to consume you. It whispers your name.”

“I know,” Everly said fiercely. “But I will kill It first.”

The Old Man’s eyes moved to me. He didn’t say a word, but regarded me slowly, carefully. As if the answer he sought was written on my body but only lies would come from my tongue.

Then he took the blade and slowly plunged it into his own chest. He didn’t flinch; he showed no outward signs of pain at all. When he withdrew it, dripping with his blood, he held it over the roaring flames until the blade turned red-hot once more. A peculiar scent filled the air, like burned grass and damp dirt.

“This blade can pierce the flesh of hellkite. You must burn the beast from the inside out.” He withdrew the knife and held it aloft. Within mere seconds, the reddened blade turned silver again. The blood was gone, but dark red swirls remained in the metal.

He held it out, and when Everly grasped it, there was a pulse in the air.

“The fae wish for your success, young witch,” he said, covering his face once more. “We will be watching. If all else fails and hope seems lost, remember this,the trees are always listening.”

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